


Then I Met You

by MrCeciltheScientist (ChessPargeter)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, Gay, M/M, Marijuana, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9633500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/MrCeciltheScientist
Summary: John Laurens is the son of the South Carolina governor. Alex Hamilton is interning at the capital. You can guess what happens next.On hiatus indefinitely. Lost all ideas and inspiration for this. Idk if I'm gonna come back to it. Sorry :(





	1. Human Bumper Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and John have their historical appearances. I wrote a previous fic using Lin and Anthony's looks and it felt...weird. So Alex is a short passionate red head and John is a taller brunette. This starts at the beginning of July.

John whistled as he strolled down the carpeted hallway. His dad told him to just get out of his hair while he edited a new piece of legislation. So John went exploring, in a place he’d explored at least fifty times...ugh. This was boring.

 _Mother wants me to spend more time with father,_ he thought. _But father’s first child is his work. Oldest son be dam-_

“Ugh!” John shouted as he fell to the ground. He was knocked flat on his ass, blinking rapidly in shock.

The other man, John’s sudden human bumper car partner, was in a similar position. He was a smaller, thin man. His shaggy hair was bright, fire red. His wide, shocked eyes were a sort of blue with a bit of violet mixed in. They were haunting, in a memorable way. He wore professional clothes, but the suit was ill-fitting and looked used. Papers were falling from the sky, one gliding perfectly to land on the terrified young man’s head.

“Hi,” John said flatly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” the man said frantically. “I-I wasn’t looking and I’m supposed to bring all these memos and, crap they’re everywhere...”

“It’s fine. Here, let me help you.”

They scrambled to put the papers back together. John noticed the man’s staff badge clipped to his breast pocket.

“Alexander Hamilton...” he read out.

The man, apparently Alexander, looked down a bit. “Most people just call me Alex,” he said nervously.

Alex took the last sheet off his head, and the two men stood facing each other.

“I’m John, John Laurens,” he said with a grin.

Alex’s face fell. The little colour he had drained out of him “Oh my god. Governor Lauren’s eldest son?”

“The one and only.”

Alex face palmed and shook his head. “Just my luck. First day interning and I body blow the governor’s son. I’m _so_ fired.”

John chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. You’re safe.”

Alex peaked out from behind his hand. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not a tattle tale. Where are you off to now?”

Alex moved to rub the back of his neck. “Um, I was actually going to see your father. But I’m a bit turned around in here.”

John motioned to follow. “I’ll take you there. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“Wow, thanks.”

They made their way down the grand hallway. Alex clutched those papers closely. He walked quickly next to John, who moved slightly faster with his longer legs.

“So,” Alex said meekly, “you come to the State House often?”

John chuckled. “Working on those bar pick up lines, Mr. Hamilton?”

Alex’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “No no, Mr. Laurens. I just mean...do you always come here? Seems weird for a college student on summer break to spend his time in a government building just for fun. I mean, I'm here for work. Doesn't look like you are...”

“I understand your confusion. Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere else. But my mom wants me to spend more time with my dad. Family bonding and all that. He’s busy right now, though. So I’m wandering, which led me to wander into you. Quite literally.”

It was Alex’s turn to chuckle. “Well, thank god for that. Without you, I might still be wandering this building aimlessly.”

John stopped at a large white door. “Glad to be of service. Here we are.”

He turned the brass door knob and pushed the entrance open. Henry Laurens, in all his double chinned, furrowed brow glory, sat mumbling at his desk. He was scribbling on pieces of paper with intense focus.

“Hey Dad,” John said flatly. “You’re-”

“How many times have I told you not to disturb me when I’m working, Jacky?!” Henry nearly yelled.

John winced slightly and pressed his lips together, seemingly holding back harsher words. “As I was saying, one of your interns is here. He has stuff for you.”

Henry looked up. His angry expression became neutral. Alex wave weakly. “Right,” he said flatly. “Lorna sent you with the memos?”

“Yes, sir. Here they are,” the young man said nervously.

He scurried to the desk and gave him the medium stack of papers. Henry examined them quickly, then gave a nod.

“Very good. You can both go now. We’re heading home at 6:00, Jacky. Be outside by 5:55 at the latest. I'll meet you there in the car.”

“Roger that, Dad sir.”

Henry shot his son a glare before going back to work.

The two young men went back down the hall. John was muttering something unintelligible under his breath. But Alex didn’t need to hear his words to know what he was saying. His face said it all.

“Sorry I got you in trouble,” Alex mumbled nervously.

John looked at him with soft eyes. “Oh no it’s not your fault, Hamilton. My dad is pissed at me no matter what I do. Been that way for years. Your involvement didn’t change anything, I promise.”

“Yeah, but you took me there, and-”

“And that was my choice. You are not at fault.”

Alex smiled sheepishly. “Alright, if you say so. In that case, thanks for taking me there anyway.”

John smiled back. “No problem, Hamilton.”

“Y’know, most people _do_ call me Alex. You can, if you want! You don’t have to.”

“In that case.” John stopped, turned, and stuck out his hand. “Call me John.”

Alex tentatively took the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, John.”

They gave each other a firm shake. John felt...something when he held Alex’s hand. Like the tiniest spark against his skin. It was so small he barely noticed. He smiled at Alex, who smiled back. _He seems nice_ , John thought. _Maybe I could make a friend this summer_.

John realised he was still holding Alex’s hand. He quickly let go, putting his arms behind his back.

“Well,” John said with a grin, “glad to be of service to you, Alex. If you ever need to get anywhere, I’ll be wandering the building aimlessly. Good luck, interning.”

Alex chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s in my job description.” He looked down slightly, tapping his foot. “Um, y’know I have my lunch break at 12. I have no idea where’s good to eat here. Got any recommendations?”

John grinned. “There’s an awesome sandwich shop nearby. I’ll take you there. Meet me at the main entrance.”

Alex looked a bit wide eyed. “Yeah! Sure, will do! See you then...John”

Laurens gave a nod. “See you then, Alex.” He sauntered off down the hall, and Alex went back to work with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter done! Meet cute in the bag. Things will only get gayer from here, I promise. Let me know what you all think :)


	2. Lunchtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Time for some character background.

They sat across from each other at the dingy table. Alex’s foot tapped nervously. He fiddled with the buttons on his sleeve. John was far more relaxed. He leaned back in chair, rocking back and forth. They were waiting for their sandwiches to be ready, and currently sat in uncomfortable silence. John wasn’t sure how to talk to this man. They’d met literally 3 hours ago. How was he supposed to start a conversation?

“So,” Alex said, “what do you wanna talk about?”

“Honestly?” John chuckled. “I have no clue. I’m not good at starting conversations. I usually let my friends be the instigators.”

“Well, how about what your life is like? Being a governor’s son must be interesting.”

John chuckled. “Interesting, that’s one word. Lots of galas, waving, fancy suits, oh and never kicking up a fuss. Never ever. That’s why my dad is so mad at me...”

John trailed off, biting his lip. Alex narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Um, well...I’m not supposed to talk about this. Promise not to say anything?”

Alex nodded vigorously. He leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation.

“I do stuff online,” John continued. “Like activism stuff. I help BLM, mostly. I can't go to a lot of marches because of father dearest, but I help organize them here. I know the ins and outs of government pretty well, so I can get permits. My dad knows about it, and he’s not exactly pleased. But he also knows he can’t stop me.” John smirked a bit.

Alex looked intensely interested. “So your like, an online vigilante?”

“Activist. There’s a lot of bad shit in South Carolina. Police brutality is high, voter ID laws are a thing. So I do my part.”

Alex’s brow knit together. “But, your dad is supported by the police unions, and he helped write that voter ID law...”

John tapped his nose, a knowing smile on his face.

“Oh,” Alex whispered. “I see.”

“Yup.” John punctuated the p with a little pop. “That’s why my dad’s perpetually angry with me. I don’t care though. Shit needs to get done and I’m willing to add my voice.”

“That’s like, super noble. Wish I could do something that cool. I mean, I write. That’s about it.”

It was John’s turn to lean forward in interest. “What do you write?”

Alex’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Oh, um, stuff...”

“That’s really unspecific. C’mon, I showed you mine, you show me your’s.”

Alex bit his lip. “I write a lot of stuff. Back home, I wrote this letter to my father about a hurricane. It got picked up by the local paper. People really liked it, apparently.”

“Wait, where are you from?”

“Charlestown, Saint Kitts and Nevis.”

John’s mouth hung open. He rummaged through his memory. “A-Are you that kid who was all over the news? ‘West Indies town raises enough money to send local writing prodigy to Columbia’? It was all over my Facebook feed for weeks.”

Alex looked down, face ever more red. “Um, yeah...”

John laughed and grinned with his mouth open. “Holy shit! I’m in the presence of a legit internet celebrity! My mother thought your story was super inspiring and shit.”

Alex chuckled. “Thanks. I don’t usually talk about it. It’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Nah man. It’s cool! You wrote so well people decided that you had to go to school. That is badass.”

Alex smiled softly. There was gratitude and happiness in his eyes. “Thanks. Your stuff is cool too, y’know. No matter what your dad says. Helping people is important.”

John smiled back. His chest felt warm, and there was the tiny jolt feeling again. He liked talking to Alex. He was having...fun. “Thanks, Alex.”  
The ding of the counter bell told them their food was ready. Alex stood up to get it, but John held out his hand.

“No, let me. Southern hospitality, and all that,” he said.

Alex smiled again. “Alright, if you insist.”

* * *

 “No no, I’m totally serious. Potato salad _is_ the world’s greatest salad!” Alex threw his arms up for effect.

John shook his head with a laugh. “Potato salad isn’t even a real salad, though. It’s potatoes, mayonnaise, and other assorted vegetables. Salad has lettuce.”

They walked down the large SC sidewalks back towards the state building. Their topics had rapidly switched from blogging, to creative writing, to professors, to roommates, to shitty university food, and finally to the merits of potato salad.

“Who says a salad has to include to lettuce, hm? The oxford dictionary defines a salad as ‘a cold dish of various mixtures of raw or cooked vegetables, usually seasoned with oil, vinegar, or other dressing and sometimes accompanied by meat, fish, or other ingredients.’ In nowhere does it say that lettuce is required. So therefore, potato salad can be, and certainly is, the greatest salad!”

“But why?”

Alex jumped up on a small wall next to sidewalk. He balance with his thin arms outstretched.

“Because, potatoes are awesome, mayonnaise is awesome, and together, they’re double the awesome.” _His voice is so full of passion. If this is how he talks about potato salad, imagine how he talks about serious issues_ , John thought.

“That is a _very_ scientific analysis, Alex.”

Alex glared at him, and jumped off his balance beam, hands on hips. “I’m a poly sci major, John, not a scientist. And from my personal experience, potato salad is the best.”

John shrugged. “Whatever you say. Hey, we’re back." John pointed at the large government building. "I've got some errands to run before getting home, and you should get back to work."

Alex looked up at the State building and sighed. “Guess so. Pity, I liked schooling you on the merits of potato salad.”

John chuckled. “I could see that. But, I’ll be back tomorrow. Want to do lunch again?”

Alex nodded with a smirk. “Sure. As long as you’re paying.”

John laughed and waved off his new friend. He almost skipped away, face stretched into a grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short chapter. Next one will be a bit longer and deal with the Laurens family and a new face. Chapter 4 will be Alex and John again, I promise.


	3. Do It For Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Laurens household is not the happiest place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter numero tres! Man I am on a roll. I wrote these first chapters awhile ago so I thought 'hey I'll get them up now'. Next one will take a bit of time.  
> Please excuse my horrible French accent writing. I tried my best.

John turned up the volume on his classic rock, which still didn't fully tune out the shouting. He was stretched on his bed, arms behind his head and eyes shut. Mom had found red lipstick on Dad’s collar, again. This was what, the third time in a month? She was asking him which whore it was this time. Dad was saying that if Mom wasn’t such a cold, frigid bitch, he wouldn’t need to find solace in his secretary’s pussy.

“Here comes the throwing,” John whispered. And right on cue, there was the sound of crashing of silverware being tossed like baseballs. They’d be in separate wings tonight instead of separate rooms. John heard a knock on his door.

“C’mon in, Patsy,” he said, not even needing to open his eyes to know who it was.

Martha Laurens opened the door, slammed it shut, and stomped into the room with her heavy combat boots. She plopped herself on the bed, arms crossed.

“Mom’s pissed,” she muttered.

“No shit,” John replied, removing one earbud.

“If Dad is gonna have affairs, he could at least be smart about it.”

“I feel you, Patsy.”

Martha glared at her brother. “Stop calling me that.’

John cracked an eye open. “Why? It’s your name.”

“It’s my _nickname_ , from when I was 6. I’m 15 now. I’m not a kid anymore.”

John chuckled. “Uh-huh, yeah. You’re totally an adult now.”

“I'm not saying I'm an adult, asshole. Just a teen. A teen who doesn’t want to be called Patsy anymore. Plus, Mom gave us those nicknames because she wanted all our names to end in ‘y’. Jacky, Patsy, Harry, Jemmy, and Polly.”

John sighed. “I know. Mom likes that kitschy shit.”

He took out his other headphone and shifted to look at his little sister. She was in her “rebellious stage” now, according to their mother. Really, she just started wearing a leather jacket, combat boots, and some band shirts. Nothing out of the ordinary for a new high schooler. But everything was the end of the world to their mother.

“Are Mom and Dad gonna split up?” Martha whispered.

John shrugged. “Maybe someday. Not as long as Dad is governor. It’d look terrible for him, especially with five kids. And Dad is an opportunist and a politician more than anything.”

Martha  looked away. “Is that all we are to him? Props that look good on the campaign trail?”

“I don’t think so. I hope not. I think he loves us in his own twisted way. I mean, if we were falling off a cliff, he’d save us.”

“That’s not a very high standard, Jacky.”

“Well...good point. But it’s something.”

Martha sighed, rubbing her lips together. “I guess. _You_ might get along better with him if you’d stop with all the Black Lives Matter shit.”

John shook his head. “It’s important to me, Pats. I’m not gonna stop because Dad takes money from cops. Besides, I don’t even use my real name. It’s not reflection on him or our ‘sacred family name.’”

Martha rolled her eyes, but with a smile. “Fine, Mr. Morals. Go save the world, one protesting permit at a time.”

The sound of the Skype ringtone came from John’s desk. The familiar name and picture flashed.

“Crap, I forgot,” he muttered. “I’ve got to talk to someone, Pats. We’ll chat later ok?”

Patsy smiled sweetly. “Go save the world.”

John scrambled to his desk and plugged in his earbuds. With one click of the green button, Gil’s face flashed on the screen. He was grinning wide. Posters hung in the background, everything from A Tribe Called Quest to Rosie the Riveter. His (favourite) tank top read "BLACK LIVES MATTER".

“‘ello, southern bastard,” he said in an electronically filtered voice.

“Bonjour, French prick. How’s it going?”

Gilbert sighed and shook his head. “Between my job, a summer course, and the blog, I am spread a bit thin. ‘Ow about you, mon ami?”

“Daddy dearest has been working his way through every busty secretary in the office this month. So evenings have been...eventful, to say the least.”

“Your father needs to learn to keep ‘is prick in ‘is pants.”

“Your telling me! Anyway, did that permit go through?”

“Perfectly. Your advice was most ‘elpful. I am glad you are on our side, Jean. “

“I’m on the side of what’s right, Gil, always.” John leaned forward in his chair. “Hey, your at Columbia, right?”

“Oui, in ze political sciences.”

“Do you know an Alex Hamilton?”

Gil chuckled and put his hands behind his head. “Alex Hamilton, wow. Zat is a well known name around here.”

“Why?”

“Well, ‘e came here from ze West Indies because of a gofundme campaign, which meant everyone knew ‘is name from ze papers. Then when ‘e got here, man, it was like having an explosion in ze department. Za man is a presence to say the least. Everyone either loves or hates ‘im.”

“Again, why?”

“‘e is passionate about everything. Any topic, ‘e will launch into an hour long rant. I saw ‘im once, and it was amazing and terrifying at the same time. People say ‘e is going to change za world someday.”

“What do you think of him?”

Gil shrugged. “Meh, ‘e is interesting. A bit of a, uh, blabbermouth. ‘E does _not_ stop talking. Everything ‘e says could be condensed. But hey, ‘e pisses off Burr, so zat puts ‘im in my good books.”

John threw his head back laughing. “Oh that makes me like him even more! From what you say, Burr needs to be knocked down a few pegs."

“Why do you ask about Hamilton, ami?”

“Well, because he’s here, in South Carolina.”

Gil’s eyes bugged out. “What?! How?!”

“He’s interning at the State House. I literally ran into him today, then we had lunch. He seems nice...”

Gil chuckled and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his crappy plastic chair. “‘E is nice enough, from my knowledge. Just do not ask ‘im about corporate money in Washington. You will die before ‘e finishes talking.”

John laughed heartily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A louder crash sounded from the downstairs of the governor’s mansion. Followed by the stinging shatter of wine glass hitting the ground. John winced and sighed.

“You may want to check on that, Jean,” Gil said, quiet and sympathetic in tone.

“Probably. Call you Thursday, Gil,” he muttered.

John slammed his laptop shut, and dashed down the stairs. Shrill, slurred shrieking rang through the entire house, followed by more crashing.

“Maybe Shelly can cook you dinner! Or go to your fundraisers! Or take care of your children! Or put up with you for over twenty fucking years without bashing your fat head in!”

Eleanor threw another crystal wine glass, narrowly missing Henry’s head. She had quite a throwing arm, able to reach the other end of the long dining room table. Her honey brown hair had fallen from it’s bun. Mascara ran down her tear soaked face. Henry looked more red than a tomato. His suit was dishevelled, a wine stain on the shoulder.

“At least Shelly doesn’t take five years to finish!”

Eleanor gasped. She wound up to toss her wine bottle. John rushed forward and grabbed her arm.

“Mom, no!” he yelled.

“Stay out of this, Jacky!” She yelled, words more slurred than a college student’s on rush week.

“Like hell I will. Put down the bottle, Mom. It’s time to go to bed.”

Eleanor looked up at him sad blue eyes. She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder, slowly lowering the bottle.

“You’re a good boy, Jacky. You’re such a good boy. I don’t deserve you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

John started to lead his mother towards the stairs. Henry straightened up and fixed his ruined suit. He nodded towards John.

“Thank you, son,” he said.

John turned to glare at him. “I don't do it for you, or her. I do it for them.”

Henry cleared his throat and pressed his lips together. He walked off like the respectable man he pretended to be.

John led his mother upstairs to her room. He turned on the hot shower, and got pyjamas out on the bed. Eleanor stood confused.

“C’mon Mom,” John said, talking to her like he’d talk to a toddler, “you should wash up and go to bed.”

Eleanor grinned like an idiot. “Ok.”

She walked into the bathroom happily. She hummed and sang as she closed the door. John sighed, and walked out of the room. The second he closed the door, his limbs felt heavier than lead. He slid down the nearby wall as he massaged his temples. _They’re getting worse_ , he thought. _We can’t keep going like this. This is too much for them. They’re too young. They’re-_

John’s thoughts were broken by a tug on his sleeve. He cracked open one eye. Mary stood there silently, clutching her teddy bear. Her onesie was covered in little stars and hearts. Her blonde curls were tousled from, what looked like, sleeplessly rolling around in her bed.

“Hey Polly,” John whispered. “What are you still doing up?”

“I heard loud stuff,” she said quietly.

“Mommy and Daddy were just talking, sweetie”

“They talk loud.”

John sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Yeah, I know. They’re done now though. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

Mary nodded. John picked her up, holding the four year old on his hip. She wrapped around his neck tightly. John hummed under his breath as they walked. He didn’t exactly know what the song was, but Mary seemed to like it. She snuggled into the crook of his neck. They reached her room down the hall. He laid her in the large bed and pulled up the blanket. Mary yawned and smiled, drifting off into dreams. John stroked her hair, smiling softly.

“I do it for them,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep doing it. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Alex and John. We gotta get the gay ball rolling here!
> 
> EDIT: So I found out Martha was actually called Patsy and Mary was called Polly. Since I want some semblance of historical allusion, I changed it here and in subsequent chapters. So if anyone notices, that's why the changes happened.


	4. Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John friends Alex on Facebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter. Next one will be short too, then there's a long one I have planned.

John hummed as he scrolled through Facebook. His private account of course. The public one was only created to promote his dad’s campaign. There was everything from BLM posts, to Times articles, to cake recipes. His taste was...eclectic to say the least.

His newsfeed hit that ever annoying “People you may know” suggestion box. But one stuck out among them.

“Alex Hamilton,” he mumbled, “of course.”

His profile picture looked like it was taken outside. He was solemnly staring off into the distance, red hair blowing back in the wid.

“Might as well,” John said.

He clicked the friend button and continued with scrolling.

Maybe 10 seconds later, Facebook went “ding”, the little white box reading “Alex Hamilton has accepted your friend request.” Then another ding went as a message popped up.

 **A.Ham** : Hey! You found me!

 **J.Lau** : No shit Sherlock

 **A.Ham** : #rude. How’s it going?

 **J.Lau** : I'm bored. I slept in so my mom let me stay home but I have nothing to do.

 **J.Lau** : Wait aren’t you supposed to be working?

 **A.Ham** : Lunch break. Been sorting papers and making coffee all day. I could really use some help plz?

 **J.Lau** : Nice try. I’m bored but not that bored. You’re learning at least right?

 **A.Ham** : Learning is relative. I’ve learned that too spoonfuls of cheap creamer doesn’t hide the fact that government coffee is shit.

 **J.Lau** : Lol learned that years ago. Try half a cup of sugar. Makes it a bit more bearable.

 **A.Ham** : Thanks for the tip. Got anything about sorting government briefs?

 **J.Lau** : Sorry, no help there. I could tell you how to get out of a police interregation

 **J.Lau** : With your mouth I'm sure you'll need it :D

 **A.Ham** : Haha -_-

 **A.Ham** : You seem to think you’re funny

 **J.Lau** : I am funny! My friends certainly think so.

 **A.Ham** : You have friends? ;)

 **J.Lau** : Yes, dickbag. Lots of friends.

 **A.Ham** : Mhm

 **A.Ham** : Am I one of them now?

John smiled a bit.

 **J.Lau** : Yeah, I guess you are

 **A.Ham** : Hooray!

 **A.Ham** : Do I get a cookie? :D

 **J.Lau** : Oh yeah. Totally. I just have those sitting around.

 **A.Ham** : I’ll come pick one up later.

 **A.Ham** : Shit break is over

 **A.Ham** : Supervisor is glaring

 **A.Ham** : See ya!

He punctuated his farewell with a Tuzki sticker, waving a “bye’ fan with cartoon tear streaks. John giggled. He didn’t know if it said something about him or Alex that this was the highlight of his day.


	5. Football

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets Alex to try football.

"Hut, hut, hike!"

John grabbed the ball and tucked it under his arm. He ran backwards a couple feet, kicking up grass as he went. He spotted Parker waving his arms like a madman. He tossed the oval ball and it sailed threw the air. Parker caught and surged down to the end zone. As in, he ran across the public park field and threw the ball down between two gym bags.

Parker ran around with his arms out like an airplane. John whooped and hollered with the others.

"Take that, bitches!" Parker shouted.

Lee huffed and rolled his eyes. He was such a sore loser. They milled about on the field.

"Hey! John!"

All the men turned to look. A thin guy with freckles and auburn hair ran towards them, grinning profusely.

"Who's the kid?" Lee mumbled.

"He's my friend, Lee. And he's not a kid, he's two years younger than us."

"So he's a freshman? Gross."

"Fuck off, Chucky. You're only here because you're Horatio's neighbour."

Lee muttered some insult under his breath. Alex came up to John, still panting. He was in Columbia sweats and gym shorts.

"Hey," he said between gasps.

"You made it," John replied.

"Yeah, got my work done quickly. So what's this about a football game?"

"Yeah, got some university friends here. We're playing tackle. Thought you'd might want to join."

Alex's brow furrowed. "Tackle? Football is a non-contact sport."

Lee scoffed. "Yeah, that's why I play with a helmet."

"Helmet? I thought all I was missing was cleats."

John smacked his forehead. "Shit. Forgot, you're from the West Indies. I meant  _American_ football. Y'know, with the oval ball and big shoulder pads?"

Alex's eyes bugged out. "You mean fake football? With all the concussions?!"

John chuckled and shook his head. "I promise there will be no concussions. Right, Lee?"

Lee snorted. Alex was still biting his lip nervously. John placed a hand on his shoulder, and the young man looked up.

"Hey," John said softly, "don't worry. It'll be okay. I promise."

Alex smiled softly. A little red spread across his cheeks.

 _Man, he burns quickly_ , John thought.

He motioned for Alex to follow.

"Now c'mon," he said, "you're on our team. If you get the ball, run to the other side. Oh, and wear this." John handed him a red kerchief

Alex nodded. He tied the scarf around his head. They took positions in a line. Parker crouched down holding the ball.

"Hut, hut, hike!"

John caught the ball, like always. Pete Salem was waving, mouthing "over here! Over here!" But Alex was also waving weakly. He was trying his best to participate.

_I should give him a chance_

John tossed the ball in a corkscrew motion. Alex jumped two feet in the air. He caught it with both hands. He had a huge open mouthed smile on his face. But he was standing, just holding the ball.

"Alex, run!" John shouted.

Alex looked confused for a second. Until Charles Lee plowed into him like a bulldozer. He toppled over and slammed into the grassy ground.

* * *

"Alex? Alexander? Al, are you ok?"

All Alex saw was darkness. He blinked slowly. There was a blurry face, surrounded by a halo of sunlight. Alex smiled weakly.

"Angel," he whispered.

"Did he just call you an angel...?" Another voice chuckled.

"Shut it, Chuck, he's delirious. This is your fault anyway. Al, it's John. How are you feeling?"

Slowly, Alex's vision came into focus. John's round face was only inches away. His blue eyes were full of worry and his mouth hung open.

"John?"

"Yeah, Al, it's me. You okay?"

"I-I think so. What happened?"

"Lee was being an idiot. He hit you too hard, and you hit the ground even harder. Need a hand?"

John stretched out his arm. Alex took his hand, and was yanked up with a bit too much force. He got a head rush and stumbled. John grabbed his waist to hold him steady. Alex looked down, trying to hide a spreading blush.

 _Shit_ , he thought,  _keep it together, Hamilton._

"Jeez man, how's your head?" John asked.

"Ok. Doesn't feel like a concussion. Had one of those before," Alex mumbled.

"Good." John turned to Lee, scowling. "You hit him too hard, Lee!"

"Hey, ain't my fault the man can't take his tackles," Lee said with a smug smirk.

"This isn't a joke, asshole. You could've really hurt him!"

"He's fine. Stop being such a girl."

John growled. He stepped forward, fists clenched. Alex grabbed his wrist. John turned to look at him. His blue eyes were soft. He shook his head slightly.

"It's ok, J. I feel fine. I-I just want to get home."

John sighed. "Yeah, okay. C'mon I'll drive you home."

John scooped up his gym bag, gave one last glare to Lee, and stomped off towards his Prius. Alex followed behind, head down and speed walking.

John clicked his beeper, and the silver hybrid beeped. He threw open the trunk and tossed his bag in. Alex put his bag in too. John took the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. Alex took the passenger.

"Fucking Lee!" he roared. "The nerve of that guy! Just because he plays ball at university he thinks he can treat everyone else like shit! He should've paid attention, you've never played football before, god, I could jus-"

"J!" Alex yelled, staring right at him. "It's fine. I'm okay. He got too rough, it happens. But I'm  _fine_. So calm down, okay?"

Alex was smiling softly. John felt a calming wave wash over him, just looking at his face. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry. I just hate bullies like him."

"And I get that. But it's all good now. So how about you get me home like you said? It beats the bus."

John chuckled. "Yeah, okay. Where do you live?"

"156 Spring Street."

"The 'NotSo Hostel'?"

"Yup. Great place for an out of town student to stay for the summer. Best hostel I've ever stayed at. Not that I have much comparison."

John laughed, then turned the key. "Let's go."

They drove off. John was a surprisingly cautious driver for a 20 year old man. Alex tapped out a beat on the dashboard. He looked out at the passing buildings.

"Y'know," John said, "no one's ever called me 'J' before."

Alex turned to him, looking amused and astonished. "Really? Seems like an obvious choice."

"You'd think. I've been called Johnny, Jack, Jacky, but never 'J'. Huh."

"I-Is it okay?"

"Yeah! I mean, I like it. Short and sweet."

Alex grinned. "Good. Well, y'know, no one's ever called me 'Al'"

"Go figure. You mind?"

"No, weirdly enough. I like it too."

John smiled back, eyes still looking at the road, but mind mostly thinking about Alex.

"Glad to hear it, Al."

"Likewise, J."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert gaaaaaaayyyy gif* Two chapters in one night? What is this?! It's Mr.CeciltheScientist avoiding her homework, that's what it is. Anyway, got another chapter on deck. Gonna edit it tomorrow and post it. Sorry for the erratic posting by the way. Inspiration hits at the weirdest moments.


	6. Slam Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Alex to a slam poetry night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slam members names are from real people who lived during that time period. Some were abolitionists, some were just people. Thought I'd add some historical significance to this. Also, I know Caesar was a pen name of Hamilton's, but Laurens had no pen names (as far as I can find) so I decided to use that one.

“Where the hell is the line about the meeting next week? I can’t find it,” Alex muttered.

“Oh my god, just control F it, Al!” John groaned.

John blew a piece of his brown hair up, for to fall back down a on his face, again, for the tenth time. He’d set up a recliner using two cheap office chairs next to Alex’s desk in the pit. Alex was hunched over his glitchy monitor, fuming at the computer’s refusal to bend to his will.

“Control F isn’t working! This is like Windows 95, I swear.”

“You just wish it was Apple, Mr. Macbook Pro.”

“My Mac is my baby, don’t insult her.”

John stuck his tongue and scrunched his eyes. Alex shook his head, but he looked amused none the less.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the peanut gallery comments, J, but why are you camping out at my desk again? You’ve been sitting here all week. I got tackled last Friday. You don't need to keep monitoring me for a concussion.”

“Because I have _literally_ nothing better to do here.”

Alex scoffed. “Glad to know I’m your last resort.”

“Wrong. You’re my _best_ resort. Because all other options suck!” John threw up his hands, shaking them a little like he was auditioning for Broadway. Alex just stared at him with annoyance, then shook his head and returned to his work.

“So, by the way,” John continued, “my friend at Columbia knows you. Well, knows of you. You’ve gotten quite a reputation there.”

Alex chuckled. “I’m not surprised. I’m...vocal.”

“So I’ve heard! You’ve gotten in sparring matches with the one and only Aaron Burr. Now that’s something I’d love to see.”

“How do you know about Burr?”

“My friend hates his guts. He complains about him constantly. You’re in my friend’s good graces because you fight with that, in his words, ‘indecisive prick’”

Alex shrugged. “We were friends, then shit went down. Now we fight. A lot.”

The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. John could almost feel the emotion pouring off of him. The nervousness, the fear, the unrest. Something bubbling beneath the surface that he didn’t want agitated. John took the social cues. He wouldn’t push.

“Hey,” John said softly, “I’m going to this thing tonight. You should come with me. Have some Friday fun.”

Alex’s nervousness melted away and he smiled. “Okay.”

* * *

Alex was shivering in the wind. Nights got cold in SC sometimes, and tonight was one of this. He wrapped his thin jacket closer and checked his phone. Yup, right street corner, right time, just John being a late-ass.

“I’m going to kill that southern bastard,” he muttered.

“I’d like to see you try, tiny man,” a voice called out.

Alex turned to see John strolling up the sidewalk. His hands were shoved in a thick blue “Charleston Southern University” hoodie. His smile was infuriatingly smug.

“A: I’m not tiny. I’m average, you freakish giant man. And B: where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting here for 20 minutes!”

“Sorry, took longer than I thought to sneak out. This isn’t a parent approved activity.”

Alex huffed. “Just...estimate better next time. Now where are we going?”

“Somewhere secret. But we’ve gotta hurry. There’s a certain entrance timeframe. C’mon!” John started jogging in front. Alex followed behind.

Alex was right in that he was shorter than John, and a lot of that shortness came from his legs. So he had trouble keeping with Mr. Laurens the Lanky. He panted as he tried to keep up.

“John! I’m not fast! Like, at all. Slow down!”

“We’re gonna be late. Keep up!”

“I can’t! Just let me...” Alex reached out and grabbed John’s hand. Sparks flew into John’s blood stream. Like when they shook hands but even more intense, because the contact was maintained. His skin burned, but in a good way. He gasped almost inaudibly, quiet enough for the panting Alexander to not notice, thank the lord. John just gripped harder and dragged him along behind.

They screeched to a halt in front of a tiny house. It was ordinary looking. Nothing special. Just red bricks, a wood door, and a metal fence. Alex’s hand dropped from John’s, finally letting John’s heartbeat slow.

“Um,” Alex said, “this looks pretty boring, John.”

“Patience, padawan,” John replied.

“If you start talking like Yoda, I’m going to smack you into next week.”

John bit his tongue.

They walked through the small alley between the houses, and down the stairs at the back. One small porch light illuminated the dirty cement steps. John tiptoed down them, Alex not far behind. He knocked in a specific pattern on the white door. _Tap tap tip-tip-tip tap_

“‘Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently.’” A muffled voice said from the other side.

“‘You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage,’” John whispered.

There was a small click, and the door opened a crack. John motioned for Alex to come in with him. Alex scampered to follow.

The room was dark, damp, and reeked of weed. Candles affixed to the walls illuminated the square shaped basement. It looked like some emo Starbucks, with exposed brick, black tables, and old victorian chairs and sofas. All the seating faced a raised platform against one wall. People, maybe about 15 of them, milled about, holding red solo cups or joints, or both. A man with dreadlocks and a cool-as-hell flannel gave John a bro handshake and hug, smacking his back happily.

“Good to see you, J-Man,” he said.

“Same to you, T-Bud,” John chuckled.

The other man looked over at Hamilton with a curious but pleased eye. “Is this your plus one?”

John nodded. “Tad, this is Alex Hamilton. Alex, meet Tad Kościuszko. He’s a good friend.”

Tad bowed respectfully. “Andrzej Tadeusz Bonawentura Kościuszko, be my full name. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Um, nice to meet you too, Anhd-zay, tah-d...uh.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Just use Tad, Al. He’s being a douche.”

Tad playfully knocked into his friend, then turned to Alex. “Well, make yourself at home. Booze and grass are all around. Main event is starting in ten.”

Tad went off into the tiny crowd. Alex scanned the people. They all looked way too cool for him to even share air with. John looked pretty clean by comparison. _At least I'm not the only one_ , Alex thought.

John shed his hoodie, revealing a black tank top with “BLACK LIVES MATTER” in huge white lettering. He put his hair up in high ponytail, and tied his jacket around his waist.

 _Oh, now he looks like one of them_.

“Hey,” John said, “you should tie off your jacket. You’ll get hot really fast.”

“Oh, right, sure,” Alex stuttered out.

He copied John’s fashion choice, and was soon pulled into the crowd by the eager man. They talked and milled. Most of these people were second or third year university, and were in arts or social science programs. They were activists, like John, but also artists, unlike John. Somehow, John had acquired cheap beer in red cups for both of them. He was giggling, blue eyes half lidded slightly. Alex was more sober, but not by that much.

A small ring sang through the room. Everyone went silent. Tad was standing on the raised platform with a triangle in hand.

“Alright everyone,” he said loud enough for a to hear, “main event is starting. Take your seats, and halt your speech.”

John walked and Alex followed. They plopped down on an old love seat, that creaked under their shared weight. There wasn’t a lot of room, so Alex ended up leaning against John’s torso, John’s arm over his shoulders. It was comforting for both, though neither would say it out loud.

Tad took centre stage. He pulled out his phone, the backlight illuminating his tan face.

“First up, is Kitty Livingston.”

The patrons snapped softly. Kitty had a round face and tough eyes. Her Doc Martin’s thumped heavy on the wood platform. She took a deep breath and shook her hands. Then opened her mouth, and spoke.

She started slow and quiet, Soft in words and tone. She spoke of dolls in a glass house.  But she built the tension. Faster, angrier, stronger, more powerful. Her fists clenched, her arms waved. The passion showed on every muscle of her face. The dolls were watched all their lives, viewed in their glass houses but never safe. It was amazing, impactful, and thought provoking all at once.

When it ended, Hamilton’s eyes were wider than saucer plates. Everyone started snapping, so he joined in. Kitty gave a slight smile and bowed.

“Wow,” Alex whispered, craning his neck to look at John. “That was great.”

“M-hm. Kitty has been doing this for years. She’s good,” John replied in a hushed tone.

“Is this what the night is about? Speeches?”

“It’s called slam poetry, and yes. Tad hosts these slams every month. Now shh, we're not supposed to speak.”

“Next up,” Tad said, “we’ve got Chuck Langston.”

A man took went up next. His hair was in twists, and he looked through a pair of ray ban glasses. His spee-, no slam poem, was just as powerful. He spoke about police brutality in excruciating, painful detail. But it also felt important to hear. Chuck earned just as many snaps as Kitty.

Three more people took the stage. All were bold, impassioned, and unafraid to speak their minds. Alex was in utter awe. John was smirking at his friend’s slack jawed expression. He remembered feeling the same way when Kitty dragged him to his first slam.

Tad took up the imaginary mic again.

“Alright everyone, y’know the drill. Five minutes then open stage.”

The crowd got up and resumed their milling activities. Alex followed behind John as close as possible. John congratulated Kitty with a handshake.

“Great job Kits, as always.”

“Thanks, Caesar,” she said with a smile.

Hamilton cocked an eyebrow. “Caesar?”

John smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my online handle. Kitty and I first met in the comment page of my blog.”

“Damn right. I was the one who got him into the slam scene. And I've been trying to get him to perform ever since!”

John chuckled. “Never gonna happen, Kit. My speaking platform is safely behind a keyboard.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Fiiine, you party pooper. You could try out on the open stage, y'know.”

“What's the open stage?” Alex asked nervously.

“It's something Tad does,” John answered. “Old pros like Kitty sign up ahead of time, but newbies can come up and do short poems on the open stage. Y'know, try it out in front of an audience.

“That's how Chuck started,” Kitty interjected. “He was so nervous. Now look at him! He's come so far.”

“Chuck is your friend, Kitty, not your son,” John said with a smirk.

Kitty blew a raspberry. “Get off my ass, Caesar. Want a light?”

“You know I do.”

Kitty pulled out a brown, crinkly stick and a lighter. The second she lit it up, the aroma of weed wafted off of it. Kitty took a deep breath in and held, then blew a small cloud of smoke. John took the joint next. He inhaled and blew like an old pro. Alex felt like he was seeing another side of John. The real John maybe, an activist who likes watching slam poetry and can smoke weed no problem. He took another puff before giving it back to Kitty.

“Thanks, man,” he said, giving kitty a fist bump with her free hand.

“No problemo.”

The triangle sound rang through the space again. Tad was on the platform.

“Time for the open stage,” he said.

The two men took their love seat again. Alex leaned against John just a bit closer, and John held him just a bit tighter.

“Who wants to go first?”

A hand shot up. It was a young woman, probably about Alex's age. She eagerly took the stage. Her poem was not nearly as polished as the previous speakers, but there was the same sort of raw energy in her words.

She earned her rightful snaps. A couple of more younger people went up. Alex enjoyed them just as much. Tad went to the front.

“Alright, last call. Anyone left?”

No one raised their hands. It was total silence, save for a couple of coughs. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the adrenaline from hearing others, but Alex was getting an idea.

 _Oh crap,_ he thought, _hope I don't regret this._

Alex slowly raised his hand. John looked at him with bugged out bloodshot eyes.

“Al, what are you doing?” He hissed, more surprised than annoyed.

“Being stupid,” he whispered back.

Alex took the platform. All the eyes looked at him. Some with confusion, some with anticipation. John was combination of both, but also encouragement. He gave a small thumbs up. So Alex spoke.

It wasn't perfect, nor was it polished, like the others. But the passion was almost tangible. He spoke about a storm brewing overhead, the crashing rain pelting the ground, winds blowing into every building. The sound was deafening. Until the eye came overhead, and all was quiet, just for a moment. Everything was calm.

John leaned forward astounded. Gil was right. When Alex spoke, people listened. He drew attention like a magnet. John couldn't stop looking at his freckled face, all scrunched up with anger and power. John's stomach felt funny.

 _What is that?_ He thought. _Bad beer? Weed? Nerves? Hunger?_ _Wait. No. Oh lord no._

 _Butterflies_.

Alex had to stop himself. He knew full well of his penchant for talking too much. He looked out at the crowd. Those confused faces were now in awe. They snapped in approval. Alex smiled sheepishly. He scurried to take his seat next to John again. The other man was smiling softly, but seemed a bit pulled away.

“Did I do well?” Alex asked softly.

“Very,” John replied. “ You sure you've never done this before?”

“Quite sure, but damn was that fun! We should hang out at more places like this!”

John smiled nervously. The butterflies still hadn’t gone away. They were fluttering around in there non-stop. And looking at Alexander’s adorable, freckled, grinning face was not helping at all.

“Yeah, sure. Um, I-I need a drink,” John said, and he went off to grab some more beer.

* * *

John lay awake that night. He’d snuck back into his room at 2am. It was 5 now. He just kept running over the night in his mind. Maybe it was the booze, or the weed. But that flutter came back every time he thought about Alex, up there on that stage, so impassioned and full of life.

He turned over in his bed, took a deep breath, and tried to put Alexander Hamilton out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, John has caught the feelings! Such a surprise right? I didn't want to drag out the feelings realization part. I'm not good at that. Plus, I want this fic to be more about their romantic relationship later. So sit tight, more to come :)


	7. Sunday Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes Church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint Michael's is a real church. Is it where the governor goes? I don't know. Because I couldn't find anything. Also Reverend Nelson is totally a creation of me. No historical significance.

John pulled his black tie tight. He always felt like a door to door Mormon in his Sunday best. With the white shirt, aforementioned tie, and matching dress pants with a belt. All he needed was a black book and an enormous shit eating grin.

“Jacky! Hurry up! We're going to be late,” Henry bellowed up from the first floor. John winced slightly, biting his lips.

“You’d think a public speaker would have a nicer voice,” he muttered.

He ran down the large staircase. All the Laurens family was dressed up. Martha straightened her cream gown. Jemmy and Harry pulled at their freshly washed white collars. Mary kept tugging at her new pink dress and whining.

“Mamaaaaaa!” she shrieked. “It’s itchy!”

“I know, sweetheart, but you need to wear it today,” Eleanor said softly.

Polly kept whining and yelling. John stood next to Jemmy, ruffling his kid brother’s hair.

“Looking sharp there, Jem,” he said.

Jemmy grumbled. “Shut up, Jack. I look stupid and you know it.”

“Hey, I look stupid too! We can dress like idiots together!”

Jemmy was trying to stay mad, but a smile was creeping up his face. “Shut up...”

“Ha! Knew it. You can’t stay mad with me.”

“Jack! Jem!” Henry barked. “Stop chit chatting. We’ve got to get to Saint Michael’s early. Reverend Nelson wants to talk beforehand.”

All the children shrunk away and looked down. Even Mary turned into the shoulder of her mother’s dress.

“Yes, father,” the four older kids said in unison.

They walked out to the car in single file, heads down, and silent.

* * *

Saint Michael’s was tall. That’s what John always noticed. The steeple was enormous, reaching almost to scrape the sky. Jemmy and Harry still looked at it with awe. John remembered feeling the exact same way when he first saw it. It was the first year his dad got elected. They’d always gone to such small congregations. Going to Saint Mike’s was like going from a hovel to a mansion.

Eleanor hurriedly ushered the family into the empty building. Beautiful stain glass surrounded them. Little flecks of coloured sunshine danced all around. Polly tried to grab a yellow sunbeam, and pouted when the light was not in her palms. Eleanor picked up the disappointed toddler and directed them to their pew at the very front. Henry and Reverend Nelson were muttering about something in the front. Nelson was grinning and nodding. Henry was smirking, like a business man who had closed a deal. He came back to his family.

“Change from usual plans,” he said, “we’re greeting people at the front.”

Martha, James, and Henry Jr. all groaned. John just sighed. He knew this was coming. Henry scowled at them.

“Don’t be like that. I’m making an announcement today so it’s important we make an impression. I don’t want to hear anymore belly aching, understand?”

They all nodded.

 

In half an hour, the people started filing in. All wearing their Sunday best, competing in the undiscussed competition of “who’s the best believer?” John plastered a fake grin on his face and shook people’s hands. They commented on how much he’d grown, how he looked so handsome, how his parents should be so proud of their soon-to-be law student son. Like a broken record of South Carolina hospitality. John just kept grinning.

He never liked that part. But he did like the singing. The Laurens’ stood up at their front pew, hands in front or holding a hymn book. John liked the unity of song, everyone together saying the same thing. After 20 years, he didn’t need to look at the lyrics anymore. He sang along to Amazing Grace, and felt happy. His smile wasn’t plastered on. Because he smiled for himself. The song flowed through him, filling him with joy.

But it ended, and John sat down. Nelson, a geeky looking man with big round glasses, to the pew. He began the sermon.

“It is said, that God created man in his own image. But some stray from that path. They choose sin, they choose the Devil, because it’s easier. It feels good to sin. But we must listen to God’s law. No matter what the government says, divorce is a sin, carnal relations before marriage is a sin, homosexuality is a sin!” John flinched slightly and looked down at his feet.

“But in today’s world, the laws of God are forgotten. The laws of man take precedent. Washington tells us we must let young women wear short skirts and act like the floozies of Babylon. That sodomites should be allowed to marry, an institution reserved for good Christian men and women. Just last month, a good Christian man's bakery went out of business because he refused to bow to the homosexual agenda. With that, I’d like to ask Governor Laurens to speak to us today.”

The church goers clapped lightly. Henry shook the Reverend’s hand and stood at the pulpit, adjusting the tie around his large neck nervously.

“Thank you, Reverend. I could not agree more. Today, Our rights as Christians are being infringed upon. That poor baker did not deserve to lose his business over his beliefs. It’s time someone took a stand, so I’d like to announce today that my administration will introducing a new bill. It will be called The Religious Liberty Act, and it will put into law that Christians do not _ever_ have to compromise their beliefs for the sake of others. Freedom of religion will truly exist in our fair state”

The crowd clapped and cheered. John smiled and clapped with them. But his heart felt heavier than lead.

* * *

 Sunday brunch had been a tradition in the Laurens family since, well, forever. Even before the governorship. It was the last single uniting force in their family unit.

Harry and Jemmy were arranging their home fries and sausages into crude shapes. Patsy was rolling her eyes and eating her tofu patty. Polly had been gnawing on the same bean for five minutes, much to Eleanor's disgust. John was carefully cutting his omelette, head down. He didn't want to look up. His mind was racing too much.

_He's introducing a bill. A fucking bill. I'm even more screwed, I'm like, super screwed, stupendously screwed, infinitely screwed. Fuck fuck fu-_

"The bill will be formally put forward Monday," Henry said calmly, a soft grin of his face.

"That's great to hear, honey," Eleanor replied flatly. 

"I know there will be opposition, but it's the right thing to do. It'll help a lot of people, a lot of constituents."

"Why do we need it, Daddy?" Harry asked.

"Because, there are, uh, sinful people out there who are trying to force others to be sinful. I have to stop that. It's my...Christian duty."

 _Says the man who fucks his_ _secretaries_ , John thought.  _You're only a Christian when it gets votes._

"What are homosexuals, Mommy?" Jemmy asked, mouth full of hash brown.

"They're men who like other men, or women who like other women," Eleanor said while wiping Mary's mouth.

"Why are they bad?"

"They're disgusting, honey. What they do is wrong. It's against nature."

John focused so intensely on his food he thought his eyes were going to fall out. All the world disintegrated around his omelette. He could almost pretend that he couldn't hear them.

"What do they do?"

"Adult stuff you're too young to know, little mister."

"Does God hate homosexuals?" Harry chimed in.

"God doesn't hate anyone, darling. He hates their sins."

"Do you hate them?"

"No, I hate the sin, not the sinner."

John bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. The swirling emotions in his head were almost too much to contain. He was angry, at his parent's hypocrisy. His father the philanderer and his mother the alcoholic. He was tired of listening to their backwards beliefs. He was nervous that he might accidentally blurt something out. But in the very pit of his stomach, was terror. Fear of what would happen to him if they knew. Or worse, what would happen to Alex.

_Oh god, Alex. He's not used to things here. He could get fired, or hurt, or worse...much worse._

"Jacky? Are you alright?"

Eleanor's voice snapped John out of his spiral of tortured thoughts. He looked up. All of them were staring at him. Henry was confused. Eleanor, Jemmy, Harry, and Patsy were all worried. Polly just liked her chicken and ketchup.

"What?" John whispered.

"You're sweating a lot, honey. Are you okay?"

John wiped his brow. His face was a practical waterfall.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine, Mom. Just overheated. Can I go to my room?"

"Of course."

John tossed down his napkin and ran up to his room. The second the door closed, he let out a long, exacerbated sigh. He ripped off his choking tie, tossing it to the wall, and ran a hand through his sweat damp brown hair.

"Please let us come out of this okay," he whispered. To whom? His parents downstairs, or Alex far away, or God up above, or maybe just himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John :( Don't worry babe, I'll fix everything. Tis the power of the author! Next update will take awhile. I've got work. Just found out I got into my top university so I need to keep my grades up.


	8. Skype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Gil have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter one. Next one will hopefully be longer.

“And then she said I was distant. Of course I am distant. I am in America! I am not sure what to do. I love Adrienne, and...”

Gil’s voice trailed off in John’s ears. His words became far away and unintelligible. John’s head was still swirling. He’d woken up with a migraine and slept most of the day. Usually, he’d be glad to spend a Monday like that. But all he could think about was Alex. How he wanted to see him but also dreaded it. Because when he saw him, he thought about how cute he was when he smiled, how those freckles looked like stars on his face, how amazing he sounded when he spoke, how John wanted to hold him close and feel his body against his and kiss him until they were begging for air and-

“Jean! Are you listening?!”

John snapped out of his whirlpool of thoughts. Gil was staring at him through the screen, half annoyed and half confused.

“Huh?” John whispered.

“‘Ave you been listening to me? You seem distracted.”

“Oh, sorry, Gil. I am. Just...haven’t been feeling well.”

Gil leaned forward on his desk. “What is wrong?”

“I-It’s nothing. What were you saying about Adrienne?”

“Do not try to change the subject. What is za matter, mon ami?”

John leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He rubbed his too dry lips together nervously. “Remember that I told you that Alex Hamilton is here?”

“Of course.”

“Well...uh...we’ve become pretty close friends. And it’s been really great. I've really, really liked hanging out with him. But the thing is, I’m starting to feel, stuff, not meant for, just friends...”

Gil’s eyes went wide. He blinked rapidly a few times, then grinned like a moron.

“You ‘ave a crush, _bon_?”

John groaned and held his face in his hands. “This is so bad.”

“What is bad about it? You like someone. Zat is good.”

John leaned forward to stare into his camera. “Not just someone, Gil. A boy! Another man! I have romantic feelings for a _boy_! If my parents find out they will explode!”

“You are being dramatic.”

“No I am not! My father just announced yesterday he’s introducing an anti-gay bill. My mom thinks all gay people are disgusting. And this is fucking South Carolina! Getting the shit kicked out of me is a best case scenario, honestly. I can’t subject Alex to that. Maybe this is just a phase or stupidity or-”

“Do not say that, Jean. If you feel like this zat is okay. I mean, ‘ave you felt like this before? In za time we ‘ave known each other you ‘ave never had a girlfriend...”

John looked down, filled with shame and confusion. “I mean, no. But I’ve always thought I was weird. I dated a girl named Martha Manning in high school. But I just thought she was nice. We got along, had similar interests and shit. We were pretty much just friends who kissed occasionally. I’ve never felt the way other guys described feeling about girls. Just thought I hadn’t met the right one yet. Until now, that is...”

“So this is new territory for you?”

“In every sense, _mon ami_.”

Gil sighed. John looked so pained, so scared. He wished he could reach through the screen and give him a hug. He hoped to do the next best thing.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning forward so he be as close as possible. “It is going to be okay, Jean. You are not evil or disgusting, _you_ know that. No matter what your parents say. How Alex feels? I do not know 'ow Alex feels, but you can at least try. I cannot choose what you do though. Zat is up to you. But I trust your judgement more than anyone.”

John smiled weakly. “Thanks, Gil.”

“ _Pas de problème_. Now, I ‘ave some new stories about Burr being an idiot. Would zat cheer you up?”

John grinned. “Most certainly.”

Gil launched into a long story about a raging debate he had with Burr in class. John laughed until his stomach hurt. And just for that time, he felt okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt Gil needed some more fanfic time. He's here for John no matter what. I hope to make the next one longer. But I also have work, as in school and a job ugh. Anyways, hope you all enjoyed this. See you next time :)
> 
> PS "bon" means "right" in this context, for those who don't know French.


End file.
